Held in my heart, yet you are gone: a riddle.
Your voice heard in my thoughts, you don’t respond: a riddle.
Always the earth and sky are cleaved apart,
a bird’s swift shadow runs along the ground: a riddle.
The tide that rocks the womb-dark ocean cradle,
lullabies the stone-dead, distant moon: a riddle.
Migrant yellow warblers come each spring,
perform new lines to old, unwritten songs: a riddle.
My fingers interlace a tress of hair,
fall back, nobody’s there. I am alone: a riddle.
Flies congregate, announcing Death has come
to host a banquet honoring no one: a riddle.
Scouring your grimy pan to sheen, SuRa:
why do the things we touch become undone? A riddle.